


A Joke Turned Upside Down

by orphan_account



Category: Discworld - Pratchett
Genre: Multi, Post-Canon, over 1000 words
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-11-07
Updated: 2005-11-07
Packaged: 2017-10-04 06:44:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A few friends get together to talk about what to do with their country.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Joke Turned Upside Down

'What we need,' said Christine Clogston, 'is enough peace.' She might have said more, but had to pause to chew, and so Blouse continued in her stead.

'It should take at least another crop year, and a good one, before we can export anything at all; as is, we are barely feeding ourselves. And of course another year would release soldiers back to "ordinary" work. What was that export item idea you mentioned last week, Chris?'

'Chickens,' Clogston said between mouthfuls.

'Chickens?' repeated Polly. 'We don't have enough chickens to...'

'No no, in objects,' interjected Clogston. 'Clocks, statuettes, that sort of thing.'

'As a sort of a theme,' explained Blouse.

'Beets weren't interesting enough?' asked Maladicta.

'Chickens are more meaningful,' commented Emmeline Blouse.

The five of them were sitting in The Three Hats, one of the capital's cleaner inns. As the countryside of Borogravia had for centuries been strictly Nugganitic – at least in form – so the capital was the place where Nugganism was as widely spurned as anyone dared. There were actual atheists in the city; of course they had to be very careful about how they phrased their beliefs and to never stand under a tree in foul weather. The Three Hats was twice as expensive as most of the inns Polly and Mal had passed through on their way to the capital, but in deference to Mrs Blouse's feelings, they had to avoid places such as the Lucky Johnny, where Live Girls (and hadn't Mal looked amused at that) were advertised at the door.

Mrs Blouse had been a surprise, although remembering a certain letter Polly should not have read she knew she shouldn't have been so surprised. Emmeline was pretty and serious – far too pretty for Blouse, she'd first thought, but the way they looked at each other, and the way they'd immerse themselves in discussion over the mathematics of some new development in the clacks, told Polly that love was, thank heavens, blind.

Polly blinked at her now. 'Meaningful?'

Maladicta groaned. 'Not the whole chicken and egg thing?'

Emmeline raised her chin defiantly. 'The chicken is a highly symbolic animal, with meanings that go much further than the common proverbs.'

'I've read the poet Tracey,' Mal said coldly. 'But trust me, when most people look at a chicken clock all they see is a notoriously stupid animal.'

'Thematic souvenirs sell beautifully, though,' said Clogston, who had visited Genua. 'It doesn't have to make sense, or even be a chicken. Birds and farm animals seem to be favourites, though.'

'I think we should just let the souvenir industry figure itself out,' interjected Polly. 'At any rate there's not going to be one as long as we're at war.'

They mulled this over.

'Which is why I think we should do something about that,' Polly continued. 'We need more peace, like you said. What do you think it would take to stop this one?'

Clogston looked surprised. 'Stop it? I don't know how it could be stopped. Zlobenia's definately the aggressor this time. We never could expect Prince Heinrich to stop trying to claim the throne simply because it would look bad.'

'He does care a great deal about how he's viewed in Solvania, though,' said Blouse. 'There are a great many Solvanians with "roots" and relatives in Zlobenia. He has a base of supporters already and is planning to call the annexation of Solvania a "return to the motherland".'

'But he does have a good excuse to attack us,' added Clogston, pushing her plate away at last. 'Claiming that our dear Duchess is dead appears to give him perfect right to the duchy.'

'Unless there isn't a duchy,' added Polly quietly.

Maladicta smirked. She and Polly had had this conversation already on the road. Clogston looked at Blouse, who smiled a thin smile in return. 'We did talk about that, Chris and I,' said Blouse. 'Some form of parliamentary government headed by a prime minister would be best, we thought. We haven't managed to gain an audience with the generals. They don't seem to think too highly of the plans of one major and a lowly captain.'

'I thought Mildred loved our brave war heroes,' Maladicta said.

Blouse blushed slightly. 'Well, we could never even get a message to General Froc. He's been very busy. We tried General Worthington instead.'

'I'll get you that audience,' said Polly.

Blouse gave her a doubting look. 'With all respect...'

'Don't worry about it,' said Polly, though she did, a little. 'Just get your suggestion ready on paper.'

***

The army barracks around the city still had no women's quarters, even for sergeants, so Polly had had to get lodgings elsewhere. Maladicta had acquired some trousers and a more masculine jacket on their way over and re-assumed, for the sake of simplicity, the name of Corporal Maladict, and therefore had a bed at the barracks, but since everything was still in a state of shift there were no actual duties and she could come and go almost as she liked. So, later that night, she lay sprawled over Polly's bed at her small room in one of the less reputable inns.

'Are you quite sure this is where you want to stay?' Mal said, looking distastefully at the tattered wallpaper.

'The army IOUs haven't come in yet,' answered Polly irritably. 'This is what I could afford.'

Borogravia still had practically no money. It had IOUs instead. An IOU written by a shoemaker in Plotz could end up being passed to a barkeep somewhere by a general, and usually ended up being settled with services or goods. Wealth in Borogravia meant enough IOUs – or a great enough respectability - to buy good clothes, lodgings and all the necessary items of life.

Polly reached inside her jacket for the notebook and the card. She hadn't showed them to Maladicta yet. There hadn't seemed to be the right time; furthermore, she hadn't been entirely sure she should. She ran her thumb over the black leather surface of the notebook thoughtfully.

'I think I need to write another letter,' she said at last.

'Who to? A money-lender? If you're that far gone, I can...'

'William de Worde,' Polly interrupted.

Maladicta sat up, scrutinising her. 'What's this?'

Polly sat on the bed and showed her the card. Then, after a moment's hesitation, the notebook. Mal's eyes widened as she browsed through it. 'When you said you knew people, I didn't think you meant this many!' she said at last in a voice strangled with joy. 'What else have you been holding out on? A magic box to answer all the questions in the world? Keys to the kingdom?'

'The newspaper people are sending someone in, I think,' Polly said. 'Ankh-Morpork is going to meddle again. I think they're going to support our plea for independence.'

'Yes, that's the sort of thing they'd like,' said Mal. 'But you know, that also means Ankh-Morpork's military outposts in the city...'

'Well, we need them, don't we? Their weapons, as well. At any rate they can't extend their resources to cover us indefinately. One war, and they're gone.' Or so she hoped.

'And enough time to form the new government,' continued Mal.

'Ankh-Morpork doesn't want any rivals in progress and size,' said Polly. 'If this war ends with Borogravia intact, and Zlobenia moves on Solvania...'

'We'll probably be drafted as allies.'

Polly nodded. 'But it's better to fight on some other country's soil.'

They fell quiet. Polly thought of Shufti, and Paul, and Jack. After a while, she became aware of being watched. She glanced up at Maladicta's knowing smile, and found herself blushing slightly.

'What?' she asked irritably. She knew that Mal did not, in fact, always know exactly what she was thinking, but it was one of the unnerving things about the vampire that she still always seemed to.

'I like you,' said Maladicta simply.

'Oh.' Polly didn't really know what to say to that, so she got up instead and paced around the room. 'Um. Well. We still have no orders for tomorrow, but they might arrive at any moment, so I suggest we go early to the headquarters and get that audience. I wouldn't want to use the notebook if we don't have to. Did you make any friends yet at the barracks?'

***

Polly ended up with only a few hours of sleep that night. Whether Maladicta slept at all she never found out; the vampire left in the small hours of the night. Polly went to sleep with a head full of ideas, half-formed worries and trepidation, and woke with a sense of purpose.

They'd make it work, somehow. She reached under her pillow and felt the notebook, stroked its worn spine, and thought of the old sergeant. This wasn't how Jackrum would have done it, but he must have known it wouldn't be. Polly would do it as herself.

The day still waited below the horizon, ready to rise.


End file.
